Every terrible dinner party begins with a bad decision. Since forever ago, husbands and wives have looked up from their glossy magazines or iPads or sacred scrolls and said, “Honey, we should have so-and-so over for dinner,” or “Honey, we should cook such-and-such for dinner.”

I have been the guest at many overcrowded, miscast, inedible dinner parties that began with these well-intentioned impulses. And so have you. The shame of the human race is that we can put a robot on Mars, yet we can’t figure out how to host a dinner party. But really, it’s as easy when we take it one step at a time. Start by assessing your table.

The Date and the Guest List

Beware the natural desire to crowd source a date for your party. Democracy is a nice idea for government, but it is an aggravation for hosting dinner. Emailing six friends and asking them to propose a date that works for everyone may seem like a reasonable way to begin, but it’s asking for trouble.

Couple A responds right away, suggesting a date but without cc-ing the others. Couple B isn’t available for the next six weekends. Couple C has a private beef with Couple A and are waiting to hear if they’re coming, which is a deal-breaker.

That’s why setting the date and choosing the guests are interchangeable, depending on your agenda. Do you want to set dinner on a designated evening and then see who is available? Or are there specific people you want to have over and whose schedules you’re willing to work around?

In the date-first model, use a ranked ballot system for guests. So first you choose a date, say, three Saturdays from now. Then you contact your first pick of guests (probably a couple, probably your best friends). They can’t make the 17th? OK, how about the 24th?

Once you’ve decided on a date and your star players, you’ve got a nucleus around which you can start inviting others. With the firm date, it’s a yes or no question for the others. If they can’t make it, it’s their loss. Maybe next time.

You move on down your list and still get the social credit for having extended an invitation. I advocate this over the guests-first model in which settling on a date means a dinner scheduled for two months in advance. People are busy. And that’s OK.

But on some occasions the guest-first method is necessary, such as a gathering of work friends, or an anniversary that demands that certain people be there, or when you need to create a relaxed setting to ask friends if they’ll donate genetic material for your test-tube baby.

Just make sure that it’s the occasion that is shaping the attendance, not a fear of excluding people. That way lies madness. Spending time with people we don’t like is a hypocrisy we must endure in the workplace and among our families. But if we travel down that path in our own homes — at our own dinner tables — we are doomed.

The list of people we’d like to invite is most likely comprised of friends and their partners. But let’s spare a moment to take inventory, because there are archetypal characters that can make or break your dinner.

The Talker: This is the most important guest. Make a folder in your address book. Add to it anyone who is good at talking and listening — not necessarily an extroverted lout, but someone adept at talking to anyone.

Once you have a collection of these types, make sure there is at least one at your dinner. The Talker is a spare tire, a lightning rod, who will engage other guests, allowing you to do those little things like cooking and serving.

The Bore: Don’t confuse the Bore with the Talker. While the Talker has moderating skills and is able to get others to open up, the Bore only likes the sound of his own voice.

The Helper: Guests should never expect to work for their meal. But there are some people who just can’t help helping. Take advantage. A good friend who will help clear plates or refill water without being told is invaluable.

The Turtle: It’s not their fault, but some people just aren’t good at talking. I would advise them to get good at listening. Often we cannot escape these people. They have married our friends and family and we need to embrace them. But they drain our energy and there should never be more than one at any table.

The Sommelier: Often derided as wine snobs, these are the people who will not only bring three bottles to dinner, but take responsibility for pouring and keeping everyone’s glass full. An asset not to be abused, the sommelier can be counted on for major contributions without being asked.

The Drunk: We all have a friend who drinks too much. At the beginning of the night, they can be what we need to get things moving. But by the end of the night, guests will flee to escape their embarrassing behaviour. I have had great success in gently reminding a guest, “Kenny, please don’t drink too much tonight.”

The Sad Sack: Anyone who tells stories devoid of humour about something terrible that happened to them is not a good dinner guest. We all have family members suffering from tragic diseases. We all work for underfunded or understaffed organizations, but we’ve gotten together tonight to have a good time, not to commiserate.

The Wonderstruck: I know a few people who have their eyes wide open, entertained by every new idea that comes their way. Their enthusiasm and lack of cynicism not only makes them a joy to be around, but helps bring quieter people out of their shells.

The Snob: Forever putting a price tag on every moment, the Snob insists on comparing your meal with one he had in Bologna, your glasses with the ones at a hotel in Moscow. Invite the Snob only if you are a snob yourself and in competition with this person.

Lest you think this is all too mercenary, remember that whom you invite to your dinner is more important that what you cook. It would be more fun to eat microwave popcorn with your best friend than a brilliant meal with Hitler.

The invitations, the time and place

Technology comes and goes. Twenty years ago, we were forced to call each other to make plans. It put us on the spot. We’d pick up the receiver, attached by a coiled cable, and unbidden, we’d discover if our friends were slurring their speech at 9 p.m.

Or we’d find out if we were indeed on an “it’s me” level of friendship. Maybe in another twenty years, we’ll all be cybernetically linked. Or maybe we’ll have regressed to beepers or smoke signals.

But as of this moment in time, email is a perfectly good way to invite guests. The event is hardly urgent enough to merit a phone call. A text message — “cum 2 r house 4 dinner” — is too brief, and the form too demanding of an immediate reply. An e-vite is a clumsy relic of the last decade. And creating a Facebook event, as common as the practice may be, is overwrought for the occasion. You’re trying to cook dinner for friends, not organize a union.

If you are emailing a group, do not hide any addresses. When I receive a dinner party invitation with all the other guests in the bcc line, I wonder if I’m being invited to the final scene in an Agatha Christie novel, where I’ll be one of ten strangers, each with a plausible motive to have murdered Lord Snootington.

When sending out invitations, keep in mind what you would like to know as a guest. Maybe I’m paranoid, but the first piece of information I want to know is who else is coming. Believe it or not, not all of our friends like each other.

Include everyone in the address line. If you’ve already confirmed a couple of people, let others know that Couple A will be attending. For example, “Hey, we’re hosting dinner on the 15th. Sue-Ellen and Pinter are coming (yes, they got a sitter for the night). We’d love it if you could join us. Does that night work for you?”

This lets people know part of the guest list and, more importantly, that the date is set, so they can’t respond by suggesting another date. If Marla’s cousin wedding rehearsal is on the 15th, then she can’t come.

Do consider an addendum, reminding your friends not to drink and drive. Most people don’t expect to get drunk at a dinner party, but it’s pretty inevitable. Legal accountability differs depending on where we live, though our moral responsibility is the same: we should all act to prevent drunk driving when we can.

We can’t be wilfully ignorant of our guests, choosing to engage in criminal activity. If guests tell us that they will have to leak some military secrets or sell a bunch of cocaine in order to make it to dinner, we’d object to that. The invitation stage is a good point at which to address this rather than at the end of the night, when it will be an ugly argument over confiscating car keys.

Unintentionally, this divides us between urban and suburban. Where I live, if people are expecting to drink, they just take a cab.

In the suburbs or rural areas, this is perhaps not an option. Some people may choose to drink more responsibly. Some may simply accept that intoxicated driving is a necessary part of owning a large house in the suburbs.

But I have seen suburbanites call a car service to take a group of them to dinner, so I know it’s possible.

Restrictions: Once guests have confirmed, ask them about their food restrictions. You’ll need this information before you start planning your menu. No sense in researching pizza dough recipes only to find out that Elaine’s husband has a severe gluten allergy. If your friends are vegetarians, make the meal vegetarian. If your friends are vegans, get new friends.

I use the word “restrictions,” which can mean allergies, vegetarianism (in its infinite forms), religious dietary beliefs, dislikes, political boycotts, and other reasons, both legitimate and illegitimate.

Wanting to be polite, most people won’t list their dislikes, but they’ll mention it once the offending dish is on the table. “It’s funny that you made this porcini soup, because Jack just hates mushrooms,” Jack’s wife will say, rather than offering the information when it could have been helpful.

Guests will ask if there is anything they can bring. This is a big matzah ball, and I recommend tackling it now rather than at the last minute. If this is a potluck, then enjoy your anarchy.

The polite answer to this is, “You don’t need to bring anything.” Notice the emphasis on need. Of course, as the host, you wouldn’t dream of putting any demands on your guests other than that they enjoy themselves. In reality, no adult goes to a dinner party empty-handed. Everyone over twenty-five knows this.

Guests, yes, you must bring something to a dinner party. The next time it seems too laborious to buy a bottle of wine, remember that in Japan, the cycle of gift-giving is so severe that if you return from a trip to Hokkaido without fake-milk-flavoured cookies for your co-workers, you will never get a promotion.

But you needn’t spend too much. Remember that the gift can be helpful, but it can also be symbolic, a gesture of our gratitude for our host’s efforts.

A gift for the host can be anything — wine, flowers, fruit, a book, a card, a friendship bracelet, jam, unscented candles, a jar of Nutella (hint, hint), guajillo chilies, a copy of Amazing Spider-Man #50 to replace the one the host gave his niece as a birthday present when he was too broke to afford anything else, herbs from your garden, giant ice cube trays — but you can’t show up empty-handed because you are an adult.

The easiest thing to tell guests is, “just wine.” But if there are any gaps in your inventory, now is the time to fill them. If you want someone to bring dessert, just ask. Low on Riesling? Need cheese? Have a hankering for those almond cookies from your favourite bakery?

Just ask, but do it now and be specific or you will get calls at 6:30 on Friday evening from the liquor store or bakery, asking you if you want German or Ontario Riesling, chocolate or cinnamon babka.

Guests, if your host is going all out with the meal, bring lots of wine. The average guest consumes two-thirds of a bottle over the course of dinner, so for a couple to bring one bottle between the two of them is cheap.

Excerpted from How To Host A Dinner Party, by Corey Mintz, reprinted with permission from www.houseofanansi.com .

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